


always insincere

by PreseaMoon



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: Masaomi reconnects with Mikado and tells himself this is the turning point. No more sulking. No more Izaya. If only things were that simple.
Relationships: Orihara Izaya/Kida Masaomi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	always insincere

It is within the depths of idle self-imposed loneliness that Masaomi first messages Mikado. Going through his computer, reading emails, deleting them, recovering them only to repeat the process for the better part of an hour. Scouring his bookmarks full of date ideas, weapon information, urban myths, and gang gossip, trying to pare it down to something that made him feel normal, but the only effective method was to delete everything, leaving him with a depressingly blank slate.

He was trying to be better. Whatever “better” might amount to, whatever trying counts for. Every attempt, however, only seemed to emphasize the abundance of negative space in his life, and how little there was outside it. For years his life revolved around something that was never meant to be his identity. It was to such an extent he didn’t notice how precarious the base was. He didn’t notice that, without the base there was nothing else.

He’s nothing. A vaguely human shaped hollow that can’t hold light or dark or air.

That hollow had to—has to to be filled with something. There needs to be something. Anything. For any amount of slipping time he can manage.

There has been an anything.

There needs to be something else, and that need is probably what pushed him to his old chat logs with Mikado. Back from when he first moved to Tokyo and extending to several months after his first meeting with Izaya. By that time their correspondence was already irregular and fading and… It’s not like Masaomi meant to stop responding.

There was just less he could share, less he wanted to share. Without realizing, all that time he was trying to paint a specific portrait of Tokyo and his life. The exciting ways Tokyo differed from Saitama, the constant movement, the subcultures, the events, so exclusive and exciting and didn’t Mikado want to join in?

Not that Masaomi ever invited him to visit.

Not that Mikado ever showed interest in leaving their hometown.

Looking through the messages it was so obvious. He mentioned school in passing. He mentioned making friends, but stopped when things started moving a more serious direction. Without looking at dates, he can pinpoint the exact message where there’s a shift. His general upbeat tone slowly became forced exuberance, more emoji, exclamation points, and joking in spite of getting older.

Did Mikado not notice? Or through the computer screen did it seem unremarkable, an expected evolution of the Masaomi he knew.

He scrolled through the messages for a long time, finding comfort in their superficiality. By their appeal to his childhood—his boyhood? He’s still a child now isn’t he. Just entering high school. As if being a gang leader made him more grown up than he ever was. He knows better, now. Or he likes to think he does. Is it childish to think what happened to Saki and his friends somehow makes him more mature?

Upon finding the messages he came to an immediate decision, but took the entire night to follow through. All the messages he thought to type were inadequate in their transparency and desperation.

_How are you?_

_I’ve missed you._

_Hey._

How do you begin a conversation with someone you haven’t spoken to in over a year? Is taking that initiative in the first place arrogant?

It’s selfish, anyway. Just looking at the timing between Mikado’s last messages to him he knew that much.

A comment about an anime Masaomi recommended followed by him asking if he’d be attending an event Masaomi said he was thinking about going to.

A week later Mikado mentioned a similar, though much smaller, event he’d attended and how much fun it was.

Another week and he said he didn’t do much over his break, what about Masaomi?

Two weeks between that and the next message. Asking if everything was okay.

There were a few more, spaced out across two or so months. None longer than a line. All of them noncommittal, assuming his indifference but wishing him well.

The last few messages Masaomi hadn’t seen until then. Too busy with gang wars and Saki and Izaya to check a messaging site he exclusively used with friends from his hometown

Maybe if he had kept talking to Mikado all that time things would be different. If he had told him what he was really up to, that as an outsider Mikado would see the reality. Maybe Mikado could have looked at those messages and have been able to say, “You’re being manipulated look at what you’re saying.”

Somehow, he is always wishing someone will save him from his own bad decisions after the fact.

Perhaps that’s what gave him the strength to follow through on that particular impulse. After typing out his fifteenth pitiful greeting, asking how he’d been and what he’d been up to for the last years, Masaomi hit send.

Predictably, he regretted the choice immediately, but there was nothing to be done but avoid the fallout.

It took him almost a week to return to that site. Whether Mikado responded or not it was too heavy for him to deal with.

But once he gathered his strength and finally looked it was just… Mikado. Answering him like nothing was different, telling him he was well and hoping the same was the case for Masaomi.

After the briefest hesitation, Masaomi threw himself into talking with Mikado and couldn’t stop.

He told Mikado hot air tales of his life in Tokyo that were true on the surface and ugly just underneath. They were better stories, anyway, without the violence at their core stealing the show. Mikado found them enthralling, always asking what happened next, or drawing attention to some little background detail that was insignificant to Masaomi, just Tokyo life, but new and exciting to Mikado.

In return, Mikado caught him up with the petty school drama he heard secondhand and how he was thinking of going on the school trip this year but backed out. It was… nice. Welcome and refreshingly normal, exactly what Masaomi needed.

Mikado’s excitement was just as bright and brilliant and enticed as it was when Masaomi first moved to Tokyo.

So slowly, subtly, not entirely consciously, conversation shifted more to Ikebukuro itself. They talked more about what living here is actually like, the practical details, and to the end of middle school. If Mikado had an idea of where he wanted to go, if his heart was set on anywhere in particular.

Masaomi put the suggestion out there so innocently insidious. Come to Ikebukuro for high school. Apply to the same high school as him. Just see what happens.

Like it all wasn’t bait of the worst kind.

He told himself it was fine. Mikado isn’t the type to fall for gilded bait like that. Back in Saitama it was always Masaomi dragging him from place to place until Mikado was asking on repeat when they were going home. If not for Masaomi, Mikado would have never left his house after his curfew or ventured into the woods at night. He was someone most content in the confines of his own backyard.

Even when Masaomi tells himself that he’ll keep Mikado away from all that stuff, advise him the way he wished he’d been advised, he knows it’s all… threadbare. He pleads with himself the way kids beg their parents for pets or to please not move away from all their friends. Heartfelt but ultimately futile.

He ignores the simple truth of the matter.

That he doesn’t want to be lonely.

That he wants to be happy.

That, perhaps fallaciously, Mikado feels like his one chance to get away from himself.

Without consideration to the consequences for himself, Mikado, or anyone else he invited Mikado to Ikebukuro.

The consequences arrive near immediately. 

The consequences are Izaya. Of course and as always.

Izaya, who is of course lurking around Ikebukuro when Masaomi is hanging out with Mikado after their first day of school because why not.

Izaya, who can’t just keep his distance when he catches sight of them because he’s a no life creep.

He wants to kick his shin.

He wants to smack him in the head with his bookbag.

He wants to scream.

Instead he stands there, useless, in a cold sweat. Lets Izaya talk. Lets Mikado talk back. All the while familiar nerves crawl up his back and constrict his neck, tighter and tighter with every exchanged word.

He remembers his first meeting with Izaya, and wants to go back to tell himself to not be such a trusting idiot.

The interaction passes in a fog, and then Izaya is gone.

And Mikado is looking at him perturbed but curious.

They continue on their way, and as much as Masaomi wants to go on as if nothing happened he fails.

To think Masaomi was doing so well staying the fuck away from Izaya. Months. He managed months without messaging him or considering messaging him. Didn’t keep an eye out for him while he was out. If he heard Heiwajima Shizuo involved in an altercation he turned and went the other way just in case. Thought about him, sure, but didn’t do anything too self-destructive with those thoughts.

He was doing so well.

Wasn’t he?

Having Izaya in proximity is enough to have him questioning that. Because he might have been avoiding him but he wasn’t working on any of the reasons why. Seeing Izaya, having his attention for brief moments, knowing if he reached toward him they’d come in contact, and Izaya would allow it. These things call back why he couldn’t stay away in the first place. Reminds him that for all his talk he doesn’t really want to stay away.

Even now, with Mikado sitting across from him and Mikado’s number in his phone and Mikado’s bright company. It matters remarkably little when Izaya is an option.

Izaya’s contact information is still in his phone, too. Because Masaomi is weak above all.

He sits in a booth with Mikado. Menus in front of them and forgotten water sitting to the side. Before Mikado arrived in Ikebukuro he hyped this cafe up, told him how fun and cool it was, and how he promised to bring him. As they made their way out of school, too, he was telling him about the newest speciality drinks that were added and which he wanted to try most.

He’s struggling to do any of that, now.

What does he like to get here, anyway?

He’s not sure when he last came here. Months ago? Before Saki, he thinks.

He thought he’d order a drink for Mikado according to what he thought suited him most. While they waited for their drinks he’d tell him about some of the ridiculous events that some drinks were named for and throw in a few he’d made up just for fun. He was going to recommend specific items on the menu, and then order a few different things on top of whatever Mikado ordered so he could experience the best ones at once. He was going to flirt with the waitress and foolishly see if he could get them a discount, just because.

Instead of any of that he’s bouncing his leg nonstop under the table and staring out the window like he’s going to find Izaya stalking them. His phone is in his hands, and he’s thumbing it between sound and silence like it’s Russian roulette where the bullet is a phone call form Izaya.

Mikado, meanwhile, is looking through the menu on his own. Every now and then his eyes skitter up, but he doesn’t ask questions about the cafe or about his behavior. He wants to ask, but he won’t. That’s just not the type of person Mikado is.

Masaomi would take it upon himself, that’s typically what he would do with Mikado when they were little. He doesn’t want to draw attention to it, though, and he doesn’t want to open the door for further questions. So he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t regret it at all.

Masaomi has already lied to him, so he’s not sure why it unsettles him so much now. Maybe it’s that he’s not convinced he’ll be able to do so convincingly when it comes to this. There’s not really a way he can tie himself to Izaya without it being embarrassing and inappropriate and… a bad look for him all around.

He doesn’t want to see the look on Mikado’s face when everything he believed about Masaomi comes crumbling down.

So Masaomi sits and takes advantage of Mikado’s awkwardness.

When the waitress comes around for a third time he hesitates before ordering something he’s gotten dozens of times. Sometime between then and their food arriving he manages to drag himself through his brooding to a state of mind more befitting the Masaomi Mikado knows.

He makes a ringer go off on his phone and cracks a dumb joke about something that happened at school earlier.

Mikado gives him a look that says he doesn’t think he’s being funny, but it’s not in a concerned way so it’s fine.

They slip back into being normal, uninteresting high schoolers discussing inane teenage things. Masaomi pokes fun at Mikado for wanting to be class representative and for wearing his school uniform without alteration. Mikado gets flustered and questions Masaomi’s reasons for both.

It’s exactly what Masaomi wants, but he’s too aware of how the mask doesn’t fit. His laughter is off key. He has to sit on his hands because he doesn’t think he can keep them calm. His cadence keeps falling flat every few words and he has to resort to clipped, emotive phrases to make up for it.

He forces down his meal and drink, and when they’re done he wants nothing more than to go home and drop face first into bed. But he told Mikado he’d show him around more, so that’s what he does. He pushes himself into autopilot, and tries to force himself to disregard how jarring his awareness of it is. The words he speaks are inflated and thin, his gestures are too exaggerated. Every movement feels like he’s missing the mark and going to collapse, but he never does.

He’s only present enough to keep an eye out for Izaya, because he knows he’ll still be in Ikebukuro.

He refuses to acknowledge whether it’s so he can get away as fast as possible or so he can confront him. He ignores what “confront” means in this context.

When the sun starts to set the two of them go their separate ways but Masaomi doesn’t go right home. He takes himself to a nearby park, to an isolated bench under a tree, and closes his eyes. Breathes deep like he read to do online. Focuses on the gentle breeze rustling the treets, on the light chatter of grade school kids playing on the other side of the park.

Tomorrow will be better, he decides.

Tomorrow has to be better, and Izaya will not be in Ikebukuro then.

Or maybe today will be better.

On his next exhale fingers land on his shoulders and slip down to cross loosely over his chest.

“Since when do you do your stalking yourself?” Masaomi asks.

Izaya laughs under his breath, almost too quietly to be heard. “You say that when this is where you come? You know exactly why you’re here, Masaomi-kun.”

That, Masaomi cannot dispute. Over the years he’s tended to find his way here more often than not. Not always this bench and not always this time of time, but always this park. “It was mine first. Before…”

Izaya dips his head. His hood slips forward to shadow him and Masaomi too. The white fur of its fringe sits across his field of vision. “Before it was ours?” Izaya’s voice is right next to his ear, airy and light and it makes Masaomi shiver. Then, he shivers a second time when Izaya huffs a gentle laugh.

“You sound stupid,” Masaomi says, sullen.

“If that’s the case, then wouldn’t you have sounded stupid first?”

“Yeah. It sounds stupider when you say it. Good job.”

Izaya tilts his head, bringing it against Masaomi rather than away from him. He can feel the vibration when Izaya hums. “Is that really what you think, though?”

“Why would I say it, if it wasn’t? You know what, Izaya-san, never mind.”

“Izaya-san? Is that the level we’re at now, Masaomi?” He speaks so smoothly the words come out slimy. One of his arms moves up to sit just below his neck, the fabric of his jacket soft against Masaomi’s skin, providing the tiniest bit of friction. The tips of his fingers pushing just barely past Masaomi’s hoodie, resting on his collarbone.

Masaomi shifts half-heartedly, trying to get his hoodie to move and cover him but it just gives Izaya more space. His bones feel like rotting wood underneath Izaya’s touch.

“Where do you think we are?” Masaomi asks, his tone twisting with resentment.

“A park. Where do you think we are?”

“A public space. So maybe don’t.”

“But only for that reason, right?”

“You’re so annoying.”

Izaya laughs, and Masaomi wishes he wouldn’t bother if it’s going to sound that empty. “What are you so worried about? It’s not as if people haven’t seen us around together before. They probably think you’re my cute little brother.”

Masaomi tenses and snaps, “Shut up, don’t say shit like that.”

“Why not? I’d think you’d find that perception preferable. It would serve you well to remember that most people don’t have the same information as you.”

Masaomi grunts dismissively in answer.

“Another thing to keep in mind, Masaomi-kun,” he says as he moves his forearm up further to press against Masaomi’s throat. His fingers take a firm grip on Masaomi’s shoulder. “People as a whole aren’t that observant. Look around us. Even if they notice us everyone wants to mind their own business. What do you think that means?”

“I don’t care.”

“It means odds are no one is going to interfere or question us.” He drops his head a little more. “Including Mikado-kun. But you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Finally, Masaomi pushes himself free from Izaya, who lets go the moment he starts to pull away. He puts a hand behind his neck, trying to rub away the discomfort he feels, and tries to glare at him. “Shouldn’t you be back in Shinjuku already?”

“I’m on my way back now. I’m not overly fond of traveling during rush hour. Besides, look who I found waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t waiting for you.”

Izaya smiles. “If that’s what you want to go with.”

This is his opening to leave. Izaya’s giving him one of those expectant looks where he’s simply seeing what he’s going to do next. Masaomi is on his feet already. Leaving should be easy, but he stands there like an idiot, like he’s testing Izaya right back.

Masaomi loses, because that’s how this goes.

“I’m gonna… go home,” he says, gesturing feebly in the general direction of the nearest subway.

Izaya’s smile flickers at the edges, hinting at something more genuine. “Okay?” When neither of them moves Izaya asks, “Is that what you’d like to do?”

It’s not.

Masaomi bites his lip. Right now would be a really good time for Mikado to contact him. Maybe he got lost on his way home and needs Masaomi’s help right away. Or maybe Anri sent him a message and he needs Masaomi’s help to figure out how to respond.

“You know, Masaomi-kun, if you don’t want to go home my door is always open.”

Masaomi hates knowing Izaya means that. He swallows and says, “I have an apartment now.”

“Oh? I’d say we don’t have to worry about your parents wondering where you are, but that was always the case.” 

Izaya stretches, barely paying Masaomi any mind, and then starts walking off.

Masaomi follows after him on instinct, not wanting to be left behind.

As they make their way out of the park Masaomi tells himself that of course he would be going the same direction as Izaya. They’re going to the same subway stop after all. It’s most convenient for them both.

What’s not most convenient is keeping so close that the natural assumption would be that they’re walking together.

He wonders what Mikado would think if he saw them, after all that Masaomi said about staying away from Izaya and him being dangerous. He wonders what he’d say in answer if Mikado asked what he’s doing.

That possibility should terrify him back to his senses, but Masaomi doesn’t know how to force it.

In the subway the two of them go right to where they need to be for Izaya’s train. Masaomi doesn’t check the schedule and ignores that the train he needs will be on the opposite side.

When Izaya’s train arrives and he gets on with him, he tells himself it’s just that it got here first. Like the choice was never in his hands to start with, as if there’s any real comfort in that thought.

When they make it to Izaya’s place Masaomi takes his shoes off and goes right to the couch. To his usual spot. He pulls his legs up and presses his forehead to his knees.

Here again and it feels… a little bad, but not terrible. He promised no one but himself that he wouldn’t come here.

Izaya puts his jacket away and turns the television on to the news before making his way to his desk.

Masaomi peeks over at him as he turns on his computer. “Aren’t you ever worried about how it looks?”

“How what looks?”

“Taking teenagers back home with you. Teenagers showing up here when they have no real reason to.”

“I’m not some dirty old man, Masaomi.”

“Uh huh.”

“If you disagree, then perhaps you shouldn’t be following strange men home in the first place.”

“I’m not talking about myself.”

“Maybe you should rethink that.” Izaya looks over to regard him. He clicks his tongue, dissatisfied. “You know, this isn’t how I was expecting your rebellious phase to go.”

“Why would I be rebelling toward _you_.”

“Why indeed.”

Masaomi thinks about telling him to shut up but doesn’t follow through.

After thirty minutes or so Izaya finishes up at his desk and makes his way over. He plops down at the end of the couch, crosses his legs, leans his head over on his knuckles. 

They watch the news in silence for a few minutes, and then Izaya says, “I already told you, didn’t I? People don’t care to be observant. They’ll happily ascribe innocence where there is none, just to stay uninvolved.”

It takes a few seconds to realize he’s referring to what Masaomi brought up earlier. “So what you’re saying is there’s nothing innocent about you having teenagers in your apartment.”

“Whether there is or not isn’t the point.”

“How is it not?”

Izaya slides his head over to look at him dully, and then he turns toward Masaomi, putting his hands on the cushion and leaning in his direction. “You’re one of those teenagers. So you should know. Did you come here to be argumentative? I assure you there are better uses of both our times.”

Masaomi looks away from him to stare at the television, watching the text scroll across the bottom of the screen. He feels embarrassed almost. For suggesting… he’s not even sure what, honestly.

“You started it.”

Izaya laughs hollowly. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

“I’m not interested in arguing with you. You make it impossible to win.”

“Then don’t argue. It’s really that simple. Are you trying to see if I’ll kick you out?”

“No.” 

At least, he doesn’t think he is. Being kicked out would make things simpler, though, wouldn’t it.

“I can threaten to kick you out if you’d like. Would you like to beg me to stay?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Masaomi mumbles under his breath.

“I don’t have to when you do it for me, Masaomi.”

Masaomi flushes and brings his legs to the other side of the couch, putting his back to Izaya. This only makes Izaya press himself to his back, slim without his jacket around him and warm. Like back in the park, he wraps his arms loosely around him.

Masaomi shifts, playing at uncertainty that’s not really there. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, really. Or are you getting all your comfort from Mikado-kun these days.”

“We don’t have a relationship like that.”

“His loss.”

Neither of them move. The news drones on in the background as a calming hum. Izaya’s heart against his back reminds him that he’s an actual person with actual feelings, no matter how he acts. He doesn’t do this with all the gullible high school kids who find themselves in his company. At least, Masaomi doesn’t think so, which probably makes him the most gullible of all.

Because Masaomi is an idiot he asks, “Would it bother you. If we did have a relationship like that?”

Now, Izaya gives the most genuine laugh he’s had in their time together today and it sounds so delightful Masaomi almost laughs with him. 

“You should hope not,” Izaya says.

That warms Masaomi’s heart for all the reasons it shouldn’t. He swallows and, emboldened, lifts his hand up, pushing it through Izaya’s hair and leaving it there just to see if Izaya will let him.

He does, like usual, like always, and that, too, makes all the difference it shouldn’t.


End file.
